Pesante
by idreamof
Summary: Arthur grew up being taught to put his kingdom before himself and to measure his self-worth as what he was worth as a knight and future king. GEN. Angst. Trigger warning for mental illness, injuries. Set somewhere in season 1.
1. Chapter 1

AN: TRIGGER WARNING FOR MENTAL ILLNESS. Also, please suspend your disbelief at the existence of any sort of psychological knowledge in medieval times. I've always assumed Gaius was wise beyond his time :P. Plus, they have magic… maybe? Yeah, probably not. Therefore, this comes with many OOC and not-realistic-for-time-period warnings. If you're a stickler for that sort of thing, you'd probably be better off staying away. Also, I'm no psychologist or doctor, so any psychological/medical information is definately not 100% valid. My final disclaimer is that anything you recognize, I don't own.

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><p>It is a Tuesday, and Merlin bustles into Arthur's rooms early in the morning, tray of breakfast in hand as he always does. Arthur has been alternatively tetchy and quiet lately, and he hopes desperately that the prince's mood has improved somewhat, because as much as he might (pretend) to hate the prince's insults, this strange, shadow of a boy is much worse. Merlin pushes down the taunting voice in the back of his head that tells him he misses the banter – because he most definitely does <em>not<em> – that surly, supercilious, condescending… He puts the tray down, and cuts off his own mental stream of words with a cheerful.

"Rise and shine, sire!" The prince makes no response, so Merlin tries again. "Sire! Rise and shine!" Still no response, so Merlin walks up to the prince's bed and puts a hand on his master's shoulder, shaking it gently. "Arthur! It's a _gorgeous_ morning, so get your lazy arse out of bed! Arthur! Sire! Your highness! My lord! My liege! Sir Prat-more -" his voice is just starting to sound a little bit desperate when he is cut off.

"Please… go away, Merlin." The words are familiar, but the utterly desperate, morose tone is not, and the words are clear, not even slightly muffled by remnants of sleep. Merlin, shocked, does as he's told. Once he has shut the door to Arthur's chambers behind him, he leans heavily against the wall, unsure how to proceed. It is probably the hastiest retreat he has ever made, and there wasn't even any flying crockery to speak of. Finally, he concedes defeat and returns to Gaius, who, equally shocked at Merlin's early return, asks him what had happened. He tells the story, eyes still slightly wide with shock, and Gaius listens intently, his gaze growing sombre. When Merlin has finished speaking, Gaius nods once, and then quickly sets to preparing a tonic – Arthur has done this several times before, as it turns out. His father does not speak of it, and other than the king only Gaius and Morgana and and some of the servants have seen it before, and they have all been sworn to secrecy. "It would not do to have the people of Camelot question Arthur's mental state," Gaius tells him. He goes on to say that Arthur is as level headed as they come, most of the time, but sometimes he simply cannot find it in him to get out of bed. "He's led a lonely life," the physician says softly, "and his is not a unique ailment – sometimes a person's sadness can almost seem to be a physical sickness. It will confine them to their bed, and make them drawn and pale and steal away their appetite entirely." Gaius goes silent then, stoppering the bottle in his hands and putting it down with a soft thud. He looks up at Merlin. "When is his next patrol?"

Merlin frowns for a moment before answering, the look in Gaius's eye worrying him. "In three days." Gaius shakes his head.

"He should not go."

"But what if he recovers?" Gaius shakes his head again, resting his hands on the tabletop.

"It's an affliction of the mind, Merlin. Even if he is physically able… even if his father forces him to… he will be in no fit state to go out on such an outing. This… illness… tends to drain him of his sense of self preservation. He will fight as hard as ever… as he always does… but it will be for Camelot. He will fight for Camelot and forget to fight for himself." Gaius sighs heavily. "The last time he had an… episode… there were reports of bandits to attend to and Uther physically dragged him out of bed and gave him a very long, very… stern… speech about how Arthur's duty was to protect his people, and that his own laziness was no reason to let the kingdom fall. Arthur did not return to Camelot of his own volition: a week after they left Sir Leon carried him back, completely unconscious and covered in his own blood with a long, deep cut up his side. I stitched him up, but it was a very close thing, Merlin. You can still see the scar. Merlin looks up at Gaius in alarm at that, a terrifying thought having come unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

"Will he… do you think he'd… on purpose? Do you think he'd hurt...Do you think he'd take his own… his…?" Gaius looks up at him through his brows before looking back down again and shaking his head.

"No. No, I don't think he would. He's been told time and again since he was a very small child that the future of this kingdom depends on him…that he has a duty to his people, that he must fight for them. So, no… I believe that even if he loses the will to fight for himself, he will be unable to let go of that sense of duty. I believe he will fight as long and as hard as he can… but not for himself."

"He's brash and reckless at the best of times," Merlin murmurs.

"Exactly. He cares very little for his own well-being. I fear it may be his downfall." Merlin looks up at his mentor then, worry shining in his eyes.

"What are we to do, Gaius?"

"I don't know, my boy. I don't know."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Anything you recognize, I don't own. Also, what I am describing (or attempting to describe) here is depression. As such, there is a TRIGGER WARNING for mental illness. There are also warnings for medical and historical inaccuracies and bad language. Please use discretion.

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><p>Merlin makes his way quickly through the castle, up various sets of stairs and through various hallways until he finds himself right outside Arthur's chambers. He knocks tentatively, and, after receiving no response, tells himself that no response is better than an angry one, and safer than the wordless clattering of goblets against the door, and so warily makes his way inside. Arthur is still in bed, and makes no indication of having heard Merlin enter, so Merlin quietly makes his way to Arthur's bedside, setting the vial of tonic down on the bedside table.<p>

"Sire?" he asks carefully. Arthur still makes no response, so Merlin gently taps his master on the shoulder, saying again, "Sire?" Still no answer, so Merlin sighs and picks up the goblet, sitting on the edge of the bed beside the prince. "Sire, Gaius has sent you a tonic. Please take it. Arthur." He taps the prince on the shoulder again.

"I thought I told you to go away, Merlin," comes the muffled reply.

"I came back, sire."

"Well, then go away again." Merlin's eyes drift to the window, through which the sun is brightly shining, just as if it were any other day. After a brief silence he tears his gaze away from the window and turns his head back to the prince.

"I can't sire."

"That's an order."

Merlin shakes his head, picking up the vial again and waggles it slightly, even though Arthur has his face buried in his pillows and won't see it. "Don't mind if I ignore that, sire. Gaius sent you a tonic."

"Could have you fired."

"But you won't."

"I will."

Merlin shakes his head quickly, breaking away from the prince's not-so-subtle attempt at a diversion, and replies gently, "The tonic, sire."

"Don't want it."

"You need it."

"No I don't."

"You don't even know what it is."

At that, Arthur lifts his face away from his pillows, raises himself on his elbows, and looks at the vial in Merlin's hand. "Yes I do." Merlin frowns.

"You do?"

"Yes." Arthur slumps back into his pillows, grabbing one and throwing it over his head, pulling it down over his ears.

"What is it then?"

"Go away, Merlin," the prince replies sullenly.

"Just tell me what it is."

"It's none of your business, Merlin."

Merlin frowns slightly, but counters, "Maybe so, but Gaius has made it my business to ensure that you drink it."

"I don't want it."

"Why not?"

"It makes me… It… It makes me feel strange. I don't like it."

"But you're ill, sire. Don't you feel strange now?" Merlin inquires, confused. He trusts Gaius's concoctions (not so much his cooking – but his potions, very much so), and he'd thought the prince did too.

"No," comes the stubborn reply from underneath the pillow.

"No?"

"No."

"Sire…" Merlin sighs, confusion and worry vying for dominance in his mind. The prince is usually stubborn in admitting illness or fatigue, or anything that might imply weakness, but in Merlin's experience he's never been _this_ stubborn. "Sire, Gaius said you need this draught."

"I don't."

"Sire, Gaius is a physician, and, no offense meant, but you are most certainly not."

"I know when I'm ill, Merlin, and right now I am most certainly not."

Tired of the game, Merlin pats the bed beside the prince and stands up again, ready to try a different tactic. "Well then, you should have no problem getting out of bed, right, sire?" Arthur does not respond, but Merlin continues on, putting the tonic back down on the bedside table and bustling about, fiddling with the curtains, pulling out things for Arthur to wear, setting his boots beside the bed and, finally, pulling the quilt quickly away from the blond boy with a cheerful, "Out of bed now, my lord! Busy day today!"

"Merlin… please." As the covers are pulled away Arthur immediately curls up on himself, and his tone has lost its defiance, so Merlin pauses, unsure how to proceed.

"Arthur?"

"Please… please just leave me alone."

"Sire…" Merlin sighs, "Sire… if you are unwell, you must take your tonic. Gaius said he'd be up to see you shortly. If you are certain that you are in good health… well, there's no reason not to get up, now is there?"

"I don't want to get up." _Ah_. And that, there, seems to be the crux of the matter. Merlin sits down gently on the edge of Arthur's bed again.

"Why not, sire?" His tone is soft, gently questioning.

"… I'm tired."

"Didn't sleep well last night?"

"Mmh," Arthur makes an incoherent noise of assent. Merlin frowns.

"Why not? Too hot? Too cold? Shall I get you another quilt for tomorrow? Pillows not fluffy enough, sire? Shall I fluff them?" When Arthur makes no indication that Merlin has guessed correctly, Merlin frowns, certain that had there been any problem with his covers or pillows the prince would have loudly and probably rudely expressed his displeasure. He might have even thrown something. As such, his lack of answer is concerning, so Merlin tries something else. "Nightmares?" he asks tentatively.

"No," but Arthur's reply is just slightly too strangled sounding, just slightly too quick, and Merlin has spent enough time around the boy that he's more often aware of lies than not, so he proceeds as if Arthur's answer were different.

"What about?"

"I said _no_, idiot."

"And I didn't believe you. So tell me – what were they about?"

"Merlin…" the tone is warning, but then, for reasons Merlin will never really know – maybe he really did want to confide in someone, maybe he was tired of being pestered for answers – Arthur continues. "I… it's always dark. Heavy… but mostly just dark. I have no way of knowing, but I'm certain I'm in a forest. Always. And… and I can feel things pressing in on my sides, but I can't… I can't move. Can't draw my sword, can't move my arms to hit anything… I can't move, and things are threatening to attack me, and in front of me is a cliff. I can't see it, but I know it's there. I'm alone – I mean, I can hear the swishing of swords about to strike, but they never do, and I can hear the angry growls of beasts, but they never bite, and there's nobody there but me, and I can't move. And… and I don't know why, but it's utterly terrifying. I … I don't know why, but it… it…" He trails off, his eyes rimmed red with unshed tears, his face slightly blotchy. He then seems to suddenly realize what he's just admitted, and clears his through roughly before throwing out, "Merlin, leave. Now."

"But sire…" Merlin starts to protest, but Arthur picks up the vial that Merlin has left on the bedside table, and is gripping it in such a way that Merlin is certain that the last thing the prince intends to do with it is drink it, so Merlin makes his hasty escape, hearing the shattering of glass just as the closes the door safely behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Usual disclaimers and warnings apply. Sorry to those who wanted this to move faster.

When Gaius reaches the prince's chambers about half an hour later Merlin is hovering in the hallway. Seeing his ward pacing, Gaius walks up to him and puts a stilling hand on his shoulder.

"I do hope you won't be nosing, Merlin," he says in a low voice. "The prince deserves his privacy. Please, Merlin."

Merlin nods absently in what Gaius hopes is acquiescence. He knows, though, that it is more than likely that his request has gone unheard. He prays that his contrary ward will for once keep to his own business, and he enters the room.

The prince is still in bed, curled up into a tight ball with the covers drawn closely to his chin.

"Arthur?" the physician says gently. Arthur makes no response. Gaius, used to this routine, simply makes his way to the prince's bed and pulls up a chair, sinking wearily into it. He places a spare vial of the tonic on the bedside table, thanking his foresight at bringing an extra, having seen the shattered vial on the floor by the door. He sits in silence for several minutes before putting a gentle hand on the young prince's shoulder. "Sire?"

He knows the prince won't order him away. He's known the prince for all of the boy's life, and has seen him through his every injury and his every ailment. Beyond that, there have been many times over the years where he has come to a distraught prince who is refusing help or consolation from anyone, shutting himself away with his misery, and taken him into his arms, waiting as the boy tries desperately to hold onto his propriety and dignity, waiting for the inevitable moment where the prince will finally let go and allow himself to sob into the physician's shoulder. Gaius maintains his professional manner whenever necessary, but the truth is that he loves the boy dearly and despairs at the pain and heartache that the prince clings to on a daily basis. His heart breaks every time he is forced to patch up the boy after a disastrous patrol, a tournament gone wrong, an attack in the woods.

His heart breaks every time Arthur refuses to get out of bed.

Sometimes there is an obvious trigger – Uther will say something, and Arthur will mull over it and obsess over it until, without anybody having noticed the descent, he is completely secluding himself, refusing food, spending nights wandering the castle halls aimlessly and sleeping through the entire day. Once, when Gaius was tending to a wound from a bandit attack, he noticed three straight scars on Arthur's wrist: perfectly perpendicular, and utterly unlike any that Gaius had ever seen from any sort of animal attack or weapon. Gaius had known, though, that he himself had tended to each and every one of Arthur's previous wounds – but these, he had never seen before. He has seen several similar marks show up over the years, but he has never mentioned them. The first time, he picked up Arthur's hand gently in his own, turning the hand so that the pale wrist was facing upward, and looked at Arthur searchingly. Arthur had only looked away determinedly, and pulled his wrist roughly from Gaius's grasp. No words were said then, and none have been spoken of the incidents since.

Sometimes there seems to be no warning or reason at all.

There are many days when Merlin comes back home prattling on about how much of an arse the prince has been that particular day, how many supposedly idiotic things he has said. Most days, Gaius merely says nothing, neither agreeing nor defending the prince. If Arthur decides to let Merlin in, Merlin will get to see what Gaius has seen. Gaius knows that Merlin has been allowed to be witness to more of the prince's personality than most, but Gaius also knows that there is still a lot that the prince is holding back. Merlin will never know of all the times the prince has cried into Gaius's shoulder, will never know of the remarkable intelligence and painful sensitivity that the prince hides behind the brash façade.

Today, Gaius just sits at Arthur's bedside, watching the young prince. He is not sleeping – Gaius can tell the difference, but he also makes no indication that he has noticed Gaius's presence. Gaius decides to give him a few more minutes. Finally, he reaches over and puts his hand back on the prince's shoulder.

"Sire." When Arthur still makes no response, Gaius gets up and sits on the side of the bed, putting his hand on the prince's chin. "Prince Arthur. Sire." He waits another moment. "Please, sire." When the prince finally opens his eyes and looks at Gaius, they are rimmed with red. "Come now, sire, it's time to get out of bed."

Arthur turns his head away. "I don't want to," comes the soft reply.

"Sire… we've been through this before. I know you don't want to, but you have to. Your father…"

Arthur scoffs, cutting the physician off. Gaius knows that, despite how much he might want to agree with Arthur on that particular sentiment, it is not his place. Arthur is looking at him with an unreadable expression, so Gaius settles for staring back. It's a battle of wills and they both know it, but Gaius also knows that despite how stubborn the prince can be, he has never been able to keep much from Gaius in the past. The prince may be stubborn, but Gaius is much more so – he has had many years more to practice it, after all. Finally, Arthur gives in.

"I'm tired, Gaius," he mumbles.

"I know, sire," Gaius's words are sympathetic.

The prince looks intently at Gaius for a moment, before turning to bury his head into the pillow. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me, sire."

"I'm tired, Gaius," the prince says again. Gaius waits silently. "I'm tired of everything." Gaius still says nothing, giving the prince time. "I'm tired of… of fighting and I'm tired of never being good enough for my father and…" And once the prince starts, he seems unable to stop the flow of miserable words. "I'm tired of having to wake up every day and work and work and work, knowing I'll have to do it for the rest of my life. I'm tired of being expected to be… to be perfect, and good at everything, and I'm tired of the mindless conversation that my father insists on just for the sake of diplomacy. I'm… I'm tired of being alone."

Throughout the entire tirade, the prince doesn't once look at Gaius, but the physician can hear the misery in his words, the strangled quality the prince's voice takes on as tears fill his eyes.

"You're not alone, sire."

"I am."

"Sire, I am here, and you know that you…"

"You're here because you're the court physician and you have to be here," Arthur cuts him off bitterly. "Merlin shows up every morning because it's his job. The knights follow me because they are obligated to do so. The servants do as I ask because if they don't father will put them in the stocks."

Gaius shakes his head, his eyes burning with unshed tears at the prince's misconceptions. "Sire, the people love you –"

"No, they love their prince. They love that the kingdom is secure. They love that they are protected. They don't love me. They don't like me. They don't even _know_ me."

"Sire… that's not true. You have to know that. And your father lo-"

"My father loves his heir. He loves knowing that his line will continue. He loves having someone to lead the army. He loves having someone to assign duties to. He loves having a crown prince – he has no love for me."

"_Arthur_," Gaius's voice is strangled with shock. Outside the rooms, where Merlin has his ear pressed to a grate, he stifles a gasp.

"You can't deny it, Gaius. Father could marry again and have another son – a _better _son – and I could leave and never return and he would never know the difference. It is only convenience that keeps him from doing so. An infant would obviously be unable to perform any duties for many, many years. He's already invested that time in training me, so why should he bother…"

Gaius finds he cannot speak. He can only stare at the prince – the kingdom's so beloved prince – with his jaw slightly slack, years upon years of practicing keeping a neutral face suddenly useless.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: The usual historical/medical/I-do-not-own disclaimers apply. Also, I really liked the character of Morgana on the show... before she...yeah. Also, gen gen gen gen gen. Enjoy!

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><p>A few hours later Merlin hesitantly pokes his head into the prince's chambers. Nothing is visibly amiss, but Merlin can't shake the knowledge that things are so very, very wrong. Brushing his nervousness aside with a shake of his head, he makes his way to the table, gently setting down the tray of food before making his way over to the prince's bedside. Arthur is still in bed, and makes no motion to indicate that he has noticed his servant's entrance. Indeed, as Merlin looks closer, the prince appears to be genuinely asleep. Aside from the slight crease to his forehead, the prince does not seem to be overly distressed, so Merlin decides to leave him be for the moment, and steps back, intending to find some other work to do – laundry, there was always laundry – when he is stopped by shock.<p>

The prince must have at some point kicked off his covers, as they lie in a tangled mess about his ankles. The warmth of a late spring day has seeped into the castle, so this Merlin does not question; it is the prince's side that has drawn his attention. Arthur's shirt has ridden up in his sleep, and there, against the pale skin of the boy's side, is an even lighter, long, curved line. Hardly daring to breathe, Merlin inches forward silently, and ghosts a finger over the exposed part of the line up to where it disappears beneath the prince's shirt. This is the scar Gaius mentioned. And now that he's seen it, Merlin finds himself incapable of understanding how he could possibly have missed it before. It isn't particularly thick or raised, which can be attributed to nothing more than Gaius's skill and the care which must have been taken between the wound's infliction and its healing, but it is horrific in its length, and Merlin shudders at the thought of what its staggering size implies.

Arthur shifts slightly in his sleep, letting out a soft moan and mumble, and Merlin pulls quickly back, walking backwards a few steps, his eyes still glued to the scar, before turning and hurrying back out of the room, the cooling meal forgotten on the table.

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><p>When Merlin returns home, Gaius is absent-mindedly stirring a potion. Merlin sits down at one of the benches and watches as his mentor works silently. The man is clearly lost in his thoughts, and Merlin is certain that the object of his musings is the same boy that is plaguing his own thoughts.<p>

_Arthur thinks that the only reason I show up in the morning is because I'm being paid to do so. _

For a moment, Merlin wonders if he should feel hurt – that he should be upset that the prince hasn't recognized the friendship between them as Merlin has hoped. He realizes, though, that he isn't insulted so much as he is sad for Arthur. When he'd first met the prince, he'd seen him as arrogant, pompous, and self-absorbed. Now, though, he thinks that the prince might just be lonely… sad. He tries to imagine his life without friends, without anybody to really confide in. He tries to imagine a world where he is forced to keep everything bottled up and hidden away, where he is expected to fill the role of leader perfectly and without hesitation, where is forced to think that has nobody that he can trust but himself.

He wonders how Arthur has survived so long, the mere thought of such a world making him feel heavy with loneliness.

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><p>The following morning Merlin drags himself out of bed as usual, and, quickly getting dressed, makes his way to the kitchens where he picks up the meal already laid out for him. <em>Sweet cakes, <em>he notices, and when he looks up the cook is giving him an imploring look. News travels fast in the castle, and rumours regarding the well-being of the beloved prince travels all the faster. One guard will whisper something to another, or a servant will report something to everyone in the kitchens, and soon enough, sometimes, it seems, before whatever it is has even really happened, everybody knows about it. Merlin supposes that they might not know the details of what is going on, but he is certain that they know enough.

He gives a small smile of thanks to the cook, picks up the tray, and makes his way to Arthur's chambers. When he gets there, though, the bed is conspicuously empty, covers crumpled at the foot of the bed.

"Arthur?" He calls tentatively, even though he knows that if the prince were in the rooms, he'd surely have noticed by now. Just to be sure, he checks the room thoroughly. Perhaps Arthur has taken to some ridiculous hiding game. As expected, though, the room turns out to be empty, and Merlin feels panic stir in the pit of his stomach. Setting the tray down he runs back out into the hallway, picking a direction and asking everyone he passes if they have seen the prince. It isn't until he runs into Guinevere that he gets something of an answer.

"I think he left… I know one of the patrols left this morning, I saw them going, but I didn't see if Arthur was with them or not. Wasn't he not due to leave for another day or two?"

Merlin shakes his head. "No… no."

"Well… have you checked the armory? The training grounds? The hall?"

Feeling slightly foolish Merlin shakes his head, blushing slightly. "No… no I haven't. I… sorry, that was silly of me. Of course he'd be out at the training grounds. Or in the armory. Or in any number of places that aren't his chambers or the one hallway I've just come down."

Guinevere smiles at him, adjusts her grip on the set of freshly laundered clothes that she is trying to balance the breakfast tray for Morgana on top of, and nearly loses her grip on the whole set. Blushing, she gets a semi-stable grasp on her burden and makes to leave, but Merlin stops her with a word and picks up the tray.

"Arthur's fine. I'm sure of it. I can help you get these to Morgana." Gwen smiles sheepishly at him in thanks and the pair make their way toward the king's ward's chambers.

When they get there Gwen knocks on the door, and at the summons they enter. Morgana is already awake and dressed. Gwen sets the clothes down on the bed, gives a little curtsey and looks up at the lady.

"For the dinner tonight, my lady." Morgana smiles her thanks, but it doesn't reach her eyes, and Gwen frowns worriedly. "Lady Morgana, is something the matter?"

Morgana shakes her head and looks away, toward the window, for a moment, before turning back around to meet her maidservant's eyes. "I… Arthur left this morning."

"_What?"_ Merlin blurts out. Gwen looks at him exasperatedly, but Morgana doesn't seem fazed.

"A report came in very late last night… almost morning, really, that bandits were attacking villages on the western border. The patrol left early. Arthur… he… I don't think he's been… _well_… lately. I'm just a little worried."

The way she stresses _well_ makes Merlin wonder how much she knows – whether Arthur has perhaps confided in her, or whether he has figured out some things on her own. Somehow, he doesn't put Morgana completely above snooping, either, but he figures she is too clever for that. However the method, though, it is apparent that she knows something of what is going on with Arthur. How much, Merlin will never know.

"Did… did you have a nightmare, my lady?" Gwen puts a friendly hand on the other girl's shoulder, her eyes shining with worry, brows slightly furrowed.

Morgana shakes her head, looking away again. "No. No… I just… He always seems so tired, when I see him. And he hasn't seemed to have had much of an appetite lately. He's been looking thin. And he's Arthur, so he's always a little… cut-off, but lately I think he's been a little more distant than usual. I… well… it's happened before. I just can't help but be reminded of the days before… well."

Merlin thinks he knows what she might be talking about, Gaius having told him of it before, and from the look in Guinevere's eyes, he thinks that she might know some of it too. From what Gwen has told him of the Lady Morgana, Merlin thinks the two seem to be close, so he supposes that Morgana might have confided some of her worries in her maidservant. He wishes, for a moment, that Arthur would confide in him sometimes – that maybe he could help to lessen his dear friend's burden. He realizes that such wishing is pointless, though, and turns his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"When did they leave this morning?" he asks softly.

"Before dawn. I couldn't sleep, and I heard the commotion in the courtyard, and I saw them leave. I saw Arthur leave. Uther… Uther must have known that he was ill yesterday, and he still made him go. Whenever I catch so much as a sniffle I am confined to my bed for days, and waited upon day and night. Arthur… Arthur is merely told to conduct himself as a proper knight should. Uther says… he says that Arthur is tougher, that Arthur can handle it. I know, though… I can see it in Arthur's eyes. He wants nothing more than for his father to…" She seems to remember then that she is not alone, and pulls herself out of her daze. "I'm … just worried about him. That's all." She stands up then, straightens her dress and looks Merlin and Gwen. "If you'll excuse me, I'm expected at court." She sweeps out of the room, then, shutting the door softly behind her and leaving two speechless servants in her wake.


	5. Chapter 5

"I can't believe he left without me!" Merlin blurts out only moments after Morgana has left.

Gwen puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure he's fine, Merlin. He hardly ever used to take his manservant with him, anyway."

"But he needs me!"

Gwen's smile is amused, although her eyes still shine with a hint of worry. "As much as it might seem otherwise, he is capable of taking care of himself, Merlin."

Merlin shakes his head. "You don't understand."

Guinevere frowns at him. "So make me."

Merlin sighs, straightening his shoulders and making for the door. "I'm sorry, Gwen. I can't."

"Merlin!" Merlin stops walking and looks over his shoulder, but doesn't turn around completely. She looks at him imploringly. "He'll be fine, Merlin. We have to trust in that. Besides," she smiles gently at him, "He's surrounded by knights. How can you protect him that they can't?"

Merlin shakes his head and continues out the door, wondering if there will ever come a day when Gwen will know.

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><p>That night, as they dine in private, Morgana watches Uther eat silently. Gwen is hovering nearby, but Morgana's attention is completely on the king, her own food remaining for the most part untouched. Uther seems to sense her gaze and looks up at his ward, frowning.<p>

"Morgana? Is something the matter?"

Morgana shakes her head, and turns to stare down at her plate, back stiff, fingers clenched around her cutlery, her knuckles white with tension. Several moments pass, during which the king continues to eat, silently aware of his wards anger, before Morgana feels the frustration stirring in her rise and boil over, and she throws caution to the wind and slams her cutlery back down on the table. Uther looks up at her calmly, eyebrow raised.

"Morgana?"

"I… you…" she splutters, her voice strangled by frustration. "You're having dinner!"

Uther's inquisitive eyebrow raises further. "Yes, Morgana, that is what we are doing, the same as we do every night."

"No… yes…" Morgana stands up abruptly, her hand slamming down on the table. "How can you eat so calmly? As if nothing is wrong?"

Uther turns back to his meal, face impassive. "That is because nothing is wrong, Morgana. Is something troubling you?"

The king's refusal to acknowledge her fury only serves to make Morgana the angrier, and she wants nothing more than to scream and throw things, but she knows that that will get her nowhere. She struggles to keep her voice steady, but she finds herself almost shaking. "Your son… your only son, is out in the wild, sleeping on a bedroll, walking straight toward bandits, and you're sitting there, eating… eating _chicken_."

"Morgana, my dear, Arthur goes on patrols all the time. It is his duty as a knight. You know this." His voice is condescending now, and Morgana feels her ire grow.

"He's _ill._"

"He's fine."

"Gaius told you he was ill. The _court physician _told you that _your son_ was ill and your first thought was that the time was right to send him to battle?" Her eyes flash with anger.

"I went to see him, Morgana. I saw with my own two eyes that he was physically fit."

"_Physically fit?" _Morgana exclaims incredulously. Have you taken a good look at him lately? When was the last time you really looked at Arthur? I don't think he's sleeping well, he always looks exhausted. And he's so thin! He hardly eats at meals… he hardly speaks to anybody when not required to. _Clearly _something is wrong; you're just refusing to see it!"

"Arthur is a knight, Morgana, and a lot stronger than you think. Besides, if he were too ill to go he would say so."

Morgana resists the urge to pull at her hair in frustration. "There is no way _Arthur_ would tell anybody if he was feeling ill. Have you ever noticed that we almost never find out that he has come down with something until he is close to or at the point of collapse? He has spent his entire life desperately trying his _hardest _to please you, trying to be perfect for you, and you hardly acknowledge that he exists."

"Don't be ridiculous, Morgana. Of course I know that he exists. No, I won't be showering him with praise and gifts with every step he takes, or whatever other ridiculous notion you have in your head, but he understands that. He is rewarded when he deserves it, just as the other knights are."

"He's distrau-"

"_Morgana,"_ Uther's tone is warning. "I would not have sent Arthur if I didn't think he was capable of handling it. I saw him before he left and he was fine. Do you think the other knights are allowed to opt out of their duties when they are the slightest bit upset or tired? No. They are trained to deal with it and carry on."

"_When will you realize that Arthur isn't just one of the other knights?"_

"Arthur has made it very clear over the years that he has no desire to be given special treatment among the knights for his status as prince, Morgana. You know that."

"_Your son! _Not a knight, not the prince, _your son, your child_ _is unwell _and you sent him into the wilderness to fight bandits! What kind of a father in his right mind d-"

"Morgana, take care that you do not go too far. I request that you leave and think about how you have spoken to your king." Uther's eyes are dark, his face thunderous.

"No! No! I need you… _Arthur _needs you to understand. I have come to love him as a little brother, and I have had to watch one of the sweetest, kindest children I have ever known grow into a shell, withdraw into himself completely and work himself to the bone, all in some misplaced hope that _someday _he might be good enough for his father, that _someday _all of his hard work will be acknowledged. You've raised a fine prince and a fine knight, Uther, but you may have lost your son in the process." Morgana is breathing heavily, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. Gwen steps forward tentatively, having stood silent thus far, completely shocked at her lady's outburst.

Morgana doesn't know when Uther stood up, having been completely caught up in her tirade, but she cannot help but back away slightly from the dangerous look in his eyes.

"That is enough, Morgana. You shall think about what you've just done. I have taken you in and given you everything you could ever want for, and I have allowed you much in the way of freedom, and I will not permit you to speak to me as you have. You do not know what it takes to raise a child, and have no right to criticize my actions as a father or as a king. Get out of my sight."

Gwen all but drags a stunned Morgana out of the hall and back to her chambers.

* * *

><p>As the knights of the patrol settle down for the night, each of them setting up and gratefully ensconcing themselves in their bedroll, none of them make any pretence of conversation. They have ridden long, hard and fast, and there is not one of them that was completely unperturbed at being forced to leave earlier than expected. As is expected of them, they will push aside any irritation and do their jobs to the best of their abilities, but for the moment they are all just grateful to try to get some rest.<p>

Only one does not allow himself to succumb to the pull of sleep. Leon, who has pulled first watch, absently digs a stick into the mud around the rock that he has chosen as his seat. His eyes rove the darkness around him, but the forest is silent, so far unthreatening. His eyes stray to the group of knights all lying around the fire, before focusing in on one particular head of blond hair that is poking out of covers pulled tightly close. Even as he watches, the prince tosses and turns, at one point even making a pained noise of distress. Leon is certain that the prince would be mortified if he knew that he had done such a thing, but the rest of the knights are completely oblivious, and Leon will never mention that particular fact.

The prince had stayed at the front of the party riding out as was customary, but as Leon rode beside him he'd noticed that the boy seemed distant. More than anything though, he had seemed worn, his cheekbones standing out sharply from his too-thin face, his bright blue eyes contrasting starkly with the dark circles surrounding his eyes. Leon has watched the prince closely over the years, having grown to care deeply for the boy he helped train, and thinks he has noticed what seems to be a cycle, in which the prince will sink into barely-contained despair and then struggle back out from it, only to fall prey to it again. Nothing is ever said about it, the bounds of propriety and position keeping his mouth shut, but his worry settles deep every time he notices the prince's young face grow thin, tired. He is unsure that any of the other knights have noticed it, as he knows that there are few that know the prince as well as he does, but he hopes that there is someone else in the prince's life that has also seen and is able to help the boy through whatever it is that is wrong. In the meantime, he vows to keep an extra close eye on the prince.

He remembers all too well having to carry the boy back after a particularly disastrous patrol when the he was in a similar state.


End file.
